“Right, that does it! You are a superior braggart, for sure. But don’t go running to our king when I give you a pasting.”
“Go easy on him, Arthfael,” Iolyn intervened, and his anxious tone stung Anarawd the more.
“Silence!” The royal youngster glared at his friend—his hero’s son. “I can look after myself.”
That this was true soon became apparent as the seemingly badly matched swordsmen dodged, parried, lunged, and retreated across the well-worn turf. Neither managed to establish dominance. In the end, after much fatigue, it was not a lack of reach, energy or technique that betrayed Anarawd, but too little experience. He grew frustrated, forgetting Alun’s advice never to let emotions better you. Arthfael punctually blocked his favourite trusted moves, who, nonetheless, admired them becau
